


Trigger

by ezazahaz



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2461955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ezazahaz/pseuds/ezazahaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Natasha was talking to Clint again, her gun aimed right between Tony's eyes.  "If you don't tell me who you really are in the next five seconds, I'm going to kill your man here.  Five..."</i>
</p>
<p>A mission gone wrong endangers both Tony's life and Natasha and Clint's friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trigger

**Author's Note:**

> This story ignores Phase II, and is set not too long after The Avengers. (It was actually mostly written a while ago, but sat on my hard drive awaiting revisions for far too long...)

"Done uploading the virus. How's that distraction going?" Tony slipped the flash drive back into his pocket.

Black Widow didn't reply.

"Last I heard from her, she was taking on a security force in the south end of the building," Hawkeye's voice came through his communicator.

"How long ago was that?" Tony asked.

"About ten minutes."

"She should've reported in by now."

"Tasha can take care of herself, Stark, just get out of there."

"You say that like I can't take care of myself."

The silence coming from Barton's comm could have meant he didn't want to be overheard by someone nearby, or that he didn't want Tony to continue the conversation and risk being caught himself, but Tony was pretty sure the lack of reply was meant as a subtle insult.

"Look," Tony replied quietly, peaking out of the server room and into the apparently empty hallway beyond, "I'll just take the south exit, see if I run into her, okay?"

"If she's been caught, I don't want you getting caught, too. I don't want to have to come in there and rescue _both_ your asses."

"Got it. Maximum one ass-rescue," Tony retorted. "Heading out now." He slid slowly out of the room, feeling oddly self-conscious in the all-black skin-tight attire the two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents wore so well. Stealth wasn't really his thing; if he could have accomplished this mission by charging in with his armor, he would have been much happier.

He also would have been happier if Natasha were answering his or Clint's attempts at communication, but he kept telling himself she was just better at sneaking around in silence than Tony was.

He traced the paths he'd memorized from the blueprints of this warehouse, choosing the south exit over the nearer east side door in the hope that he might run into Black Widow. He also hoped he didn't run into any security guards himself; as much as he hated to admit it, Clint was right that Tony just wasn't as capable as the two superspies were in hand-to-hand combat situations.

Proof of that lurked right around the corner, as Tony nearly walked into a quiet skirmish between Romanov and three security guards. Well, two; one was already on the ground, unconscious or dead. As Tony watched, Natasha snapped an elbow into the side of one man's head, following through with a crescent kick, and he fell. The third almost got the drop on her, but before Tony could shout a warning, she'd pulled a knife from somewhere and slashed it along the side of his neck. Tony winced as the blood flowed; despite numerous battles beside her and the other Avengers, he never quite got used to Natasha's occasional easy brutality.

He must have made some sort of sound that startled her, because she whipped around, hand moving in a blur. Suddenly Tony felt a sharp pain in his side. Gasping, he glanced around for his attacker, but saw no one; then he looked down and saw a knife buried in his abdomen. The same knife Black Widow had just used.

"Tasha?" he whimpered as he fell.

Then she was standing over him, but her facial expression wasn't one of concern, or guilt at hitting him by mistake, or even her usual blank poker face. It was suspicion. "Who are you?" she demanded, pointing a guard's gun at his head. Her voice was strange.

"What?" Tony gaped, in confusion and pain. "Tash, it's me. I'm not a--a life model decoy, or whatever you're think--"

She kicked the hilt of the knife still in his side, and he gasped, pain radiating out from the wound. "Who are you, and how do you know my name?"

Somehow, through the pain, he realized that her voice sounded strange because it held a thick Russian accent, not the mid-American one he was used to.

Was she undercover now for some reason? The mission hadn't involved playing any roles. Her assignment was just to distract security while Tony uploaded a virus into the mainframe of the suspected HYDRA base in Madripoor. Unless Fury had hidden something from him--which, of course, would not be surprising. But Tony liked to think that no matter how important the mission, Natasha wouldn't risk the safety of one of her teammates without a very good reason.

As he was trying to think through the pain, he didn't answer quickly enough for her, and she rested a foot on the knife hilt, directing a small amount of constant pressure on it. "Answer me."

"Stark, Romanov, where are you guys?" Hawkeye's voice came through Tony's earpiece. "Looks like they've got backup coming in."

Tony glanced at Natasha's face, and saw a hint of confusion. She raised a hand toward her earpiece, as though surprised it was there.

That was also when Tony first noticed the thick coating of blood on the side of her head.

Head trauma. Memory loss? Shit.

"I'm Tony Stark," he said, forcing himself to speak clearly despite the fact that even merely breathing was painful, "And that's Clint Barton on your comm. Please tell me you remember Barton at least."

She didn't seem to. She blinked at him, distrust still evident in her expression, her posture. But at least she took her foot off the knife in his belly.

"We work together," Tony breathed. "I know you don't want to trust anyone right now, but believe me, you won't be happy with yourself later if you kill me."

"Stark, I have to move--do you need me in there, or should I start prepping the Quinjet?"

Aware of Romanov's sharp gaze following his movement, Tony slowly moved his hand to activate the mic on his earpiece.

"Got a little problem with our Widow here."

"On my way. She okay?" Only a slight edge in his voice gave away Clint's worry.

"Having an identity crisis. Doesn't seem to remember us."

"Shit."

Apparently Romanov had had enough of just listening. She activated her own comm. "This is quite the game you two have set up here. Are you Red Room? The Hand? CIA?"

"Fuck," Barton replied. "Tash, it's me. Clint. You're not an assassin anymore; you work for the good guys. We're friends."

That must have been the wrong thing to say; Romanov kicked the knife hilt again, and Tony cried out. "Jesus, fuck!"

Natasha was talking to Clint again, her gun aimed right between Tony's eyes. "If you don't tell me who you really are in the next five seconds, I'm going to kill your man here. Five."

"Shit; no, Tasha, I know you, I can... You--When you were little, you wanted to be a ballerina."

"Four."

"You love pancakes, but with fruit instead of syrup."

"Three."

"You have nightmares about the hospital fire."

Was there a slight hesitation? "Two."

"God, Tasha, please, don't--"

Tony closed his eyes, bracing for the bullet.

"O--"

"Midnight-Red-Sierra!"

Silence.

Tony jerked as something hit him--but it wasn't a high-speed projectile. He opened his eyes to see Natasha's limp form, apparently passed out, her gun arm resting across his chest.

"What--?"

A moment later, another person stood over him, over them. Clint, panting hard. "You okay?" he asked, eyes wild.

"Not... really, no. But not dead, so that's, y'know, good... What just happened?"

Barton either didn't hear him or chose not to answer. "We have to get moving." He helped Tony to his feet, while Tony tried not to pass out or vomit from the pain. He succeeded, barely. "You can walk, right?" Clint asked, reaching down again to get Natasha draped over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

It didn't look like he had much choice--Clint couldn't very well carry both of them. Part of Tony just wanted to sink back down to the floor and wait for the encroaching darkness to take him. But the look on Barton's face warned him against arguing. "Sure, why not."

He stumbled along, holding the still-embedded knife as steady as possible, Barton guiding him as best he could while still carrying Natasha. Somehow the three of them made it out of the building and to the Quinjet blocks away without incident.

Once there, Tony decided it would be okay to pass out on the floor, so he did.

 

* * * * * *

 

Forcing himself to put aside his worry for his teammates, Clint concentrated on flying, making sure they weren't being followed and were unlikely to be blown out of the sky. Only then did he set the Quinjet's autopilot for the Helicarrier's current coordinates, and move to the back of the plane to begin treating his unconscious teammates' wounds.

Grabbing the Quinjet's well-stocked first aid kit, he decided Stark could probably use some painkiller first. He loaded a syringe with morphine (S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't tend to worry about things like prescriptions for field agents) and injected it into Tony's upper arm.

Stark awoke with a shout. "Wha--?!" Eyes wide, he looked at Clint and the syringe in his hand. "Why do you people always--is there some kind of S.H.I.E.L.D. training on giving injections without warning people? Or is it just me who always gets to be the lucky pincushion? I--ow..." Only after several sentences of ranting did he seem to realize he still had a knife sticking out of his side.

Clint gave him a pointed look. "I figured you'd start bitching about the pain as soon as you woke up, so I thought I'd try to cut it off as soon as possible. Guess that was a long shot, huh?"

Stark glared at him for a second, but then he relaxed, the morphine already starting to kick in.

Clint looked at the bloody wound. It didn't look pretty; the knife had had a lot of time to jostle around on the trip back to the Quinjet, and the area around it was starting to look puffy. It didn't smell infected, at least, but Clint still poured some antiseptic onto the bandages he nestled around the hilt. He then wrapped longer bandages around it, keeping it in place as much as possible until the S.H.I.E.L.D. surgeons could remove the knife safely.

"...jus' gonna leave it in there?" Tony slurred. Huh, maybe Clint should have been more careful with his choice of painkiller, given Stark's history with alcohol.

"Oh, you know, I figured you already had enough metal in you already, how's one more little piece gonna make a difference?"

"Funny man," Tony retorted, sarcasm clear even through the haze of drugs.

Clint moved over to Natasha's still form, his interest in banter fading. Her head wound was slowly oozing blood, and he bandaged it carefully, not wanting to put too much pressure on it if there was already significant enough trauma to cause severe memory loss. He didn't have to worry about her waking up, at least; she should be out for another several hours.

"How's she?"

"Not sure yet," Clint told Stark shortly.

"Lucky she passed out when she did, huh?"

Clint swallowed. "Yeah."

"'cept it wasn't luck, was it?"

He didn't answer. 'Luck' would be Stark passing out from the morphine about now.

"What was that you said? Midn--"

" _Don't_."

Tony, miraculously, shut up.

And somehow, that was what prompted Clint to explain. "It's a trigger phrase. Just to--put her to sleep."

After a pause, Tony asked, "Does she know about it?"

Clint closed his eyes, head bowing. His guilty silence was answer enough.

"Does Cap know?"

"No. And you won't tell him. You tell no one, _ever_. Understood?"

"Understood." Stark was quiet for a moment, then said quietly, "You saved my life, you know."

Clint remembered the panic he'd felt when Natasha was counting down to Tony's death. The coldness in her voice...

He opened his eyes and met Tony's gaze. "Do you know how we met?"

Tony started to shake his head, then looked a little nauseous at the movement, but he clearly wanted Clint to continue.

He did, staring at the wall. "I was sent to kill her. We fought, I got lucky, got the upper hand--but I didn't do it. Instead, I talked her into joining our side.

"After _trying to kill her_ , I convinced her to _abandon her country_. But today, when she was just confused and scared, when we've been partners and friends and teammates and _everything_... I couldn't talk her down. I had to turn to the one thing I swore to myself I'd never do to her."

_And there's a part of me that's not sure it was worth it._ He didn't say it aloud, but when he looked down at Tony, he could tell the other man had some idea what he was thinking.

They were both silent for a while, and Tony's eyes had closed, so Clint was sure he'd succumbed to the drugs and exhaustion, but then Stark spoke again.

"You weren't friends."

"What?"

"Back then. When you brought her into S.H.I.E.L.D. She didn't have friends."

Clint wondered if Tasha had told Tony that herself, or if he'd just deduced it from the way she behaved with the team now.

Tony continued, "Today you tried to connect with her the way you know her now, not in the way she'd have understood then. You went personal, not tactical; just confused her more."

That... actually made a lot of sense. "You know, Stark, I'm starting to believe maybe that 'genius' label means something after all."

In reply, Tony just snored, finally asleep.

 

* * * * * *

 

_Waking up. Assessing situation._

_In bed._

_Reclined, not flat. Not her bed._

_Not restrained._

_Head throbbing. Bandaged._

_Not alone. One other person breathing._

_Air filtration. Thrum of an engine. Familiar._

_Helicarrier. Safe?_

Natasha opened her eyes.

Clint was sitting in a chair on the other side of the small infirmary, watching her carefully.

"Has the sun risen yet?" she asked.

"It never really sets," he replied, and she relaxed. That was their code phrase for 'safe, things are as they appear.'

He relaxed, too. "What do you remember?" He stood and began pouring her a drink from the tray by the bed. That was when she noticed the guard outside the window, facing in. When she met his gaze, he nodded once and turned away, speaking into his earpiece. Reporting to Fury?

Something had happened. She thought back. "Mission in Madripoor with Stark. Dealing with security while he uploaded a virus. I was taking out some guards..." That was it. She had vague images of a fight, but nothing concrete.

"One must've got in a lucky hit," Clint handed her a cup of water as she sat up, and he started filling in the blanks. "You being you, it didn't stop you. But it fucked with your memory. Big time."

She looked down at the water in the cup. "What did I do?" What had the guard outside just now been expecting?

"Tony walked in on your fight. You didn't remember him. Or me."

She looked up sharply. "Is he--?"

"Recovering in the next room. Knife didn't hit any major organs."

She looked over Clint, not seeing any obvious injuries. "Did I hurt anyone else?"

He shook his head. "Just the guys you went in there to hurt."

Natasha nodded, then set the cup of water on the tray and stood, ignoring the way the motion made her head throb even worse. 

Clint put a stilling hand on her shoulder. "You shouldn't be up yet."

"I have to see him."

He opened his mouth to argue some more, but she gave him a flat look and he nodded. He led the way out to the next room, dismissing the guard as they passed.

Tony was asleep when they entered the adjacent infirmary. A nurse sat nearby, reading, and only glanced up at them when they came in, so apparently he didn't need constant supervision.

Natasha looked at him closely. He was slightly paler than usual, and a hint of a bandage was visible under the sheet that covered him up to just below the arc reactor.

"He'll be okay," Clint said quietly.

Despite the low volume, Clint's words caused Tony's eyelids to flutter, then open. He looked up at Natasha, no hint of fear in his eyes, though his glazed look suggested a heavy dose of drugs.

"Hey, Tash. 're you you again?" he asked, slurring slightly.

Natasha opened her mouth, but no words came, so she just nodded.

"Good," he said simply, eyes sliding closed again.

She stared at him for another moment, wondering at his easy acceptance of her, even after she'd evidently stabbed him.

She needed more information. She met Clint's eyes and tilted her head back toward the other room. He nodded, looking uncomfortable, but followed her.

Clint sat back in the chair across the room. Natasha sat back on the bed, noticing the open straps that had once held Clint down, back when their positions had been reversed. She looked up at him. "Why didn't I wake up in restraints?"

"If you woke up with your memories, you wouldn't need them. If you woke up... the way you were earlier, they wouldn't exactly help with getting you to trust me." Clint's eyes slid away from hers. He looked tense.

"It bothered you. That I didn't trust you."

"I got you to trust me before. I couldn't today."

"Then how did--?"

There it was; the question he was afraid of. He stood abruptly, paced into the attached bathroom, then right back out. He released a heavy sigh, then sat back down, still not meeting her eyes.

"When we first met, when I brought you in... Fury didn't trust you. Coulson trusted my judgment, but even then... they didn't like the idea of an uncontrolled enemy assassin working in S.H.I.E.L.D."

"I was on probation, under Coulson's and your supervision, and under constant video surveillance. I knew about the cameras."

"You didn't know about the trigger."

She went cold. "What?"

"It wasn't up to me," Clint said defensively... guiltily. "Fury said if we didn't plant the trigger phrase, I'd have to either finish the job they'd given me, or take a forced retirement and someone else would do it. I told myself I'd never use it."

"What does it do?" she asked, frigidly.

"Knocks you out for a few hours."

S.H.I.E.L.D. had messed with her head. And Clint had let it happen. Had used it.

Over all these years, through all the secrets Natasha knew Fury kept, the lies she uncovered, the kill orders she followed without question, she'd always convinced herself that S.H.I.E.L.D. was better than Petrovitch, and the Red Room, and all the other training that had turned her into the Black Widow. Because S.H.I.E.L.D. had never dug around in her mind.

Apparently even that was a lie.

"Who knows the phrase?"

"Me. Fury. Phil knew." Clint shrugged, his gaze on the floor. "And Tony, now. He was... you were about to kill him, Tasha."

That would've been one more red mark in her ledger. And not just another mark. Natasha had thought that she and Tony were starting to become not just teammates, but friends, despite their shaky start. She hoped she hadn't lost that friendship now, though his behavior in the brief time he'd been awake suggested he'd forgive her, that maybe he didn't even blame her in the first place.

She would have lost that friendship permanently if Clint hadn't stopped her. Was that worth it? Knowing that her mind had been taken apart, by people she trusted, hidden from her by the one she trusted most of all?

"Were you ever going to tell me?"

"I thought about it. I wanted to. When you became a full S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. When we started to become friends... but I didn't. I couldn't, and the more time passed..."

Now she had to ask the question to which she most feared the answer. But she needed to know. "How many times have you used it on me?"

He met her eyes, then, and his gaze was intense. "Once," he said firmly, and she knew beyond a doubt he was telling the truth. "Today was the first and only time, Tasha, I swear. Never again."

Clint hadn't been able to look at her throughout the whole confession, now it seemed he couldn't look away. His eyes were full of promise, of conviction, and of pleading desperation. He was begging forgiveness.

The same look had been in his eyes another time they'd been in this room. When Natasha had tried to talk him out of beating himself up over what Loki made him do. And she realized something.

"When you were under Loki's control--"

He flinched, just barely, but she caught it. He knew that hadn't been his fault, but she knew he still felt guilty anyway.

Natasha continued, "You still knew everything about S.H.I.E.L.D., access codes, the Avengers Initiative... me."

She saw the dawning realization in his eyes.

"So why didn't you use the trigger while we were fighting?"

"I... don't know. I wondered about it, after. I guess I just wasn't thinking clearly enough for it to occur to me."

Natasha shook her head. "Loki's scepter didn't affect your ability to think. If it had, Selvig would've been useless to him. But Selvig did manage to fight the control enough to build in the safety that let us close the portal. What if you were doing the same thing?"

"What, I... fought the control by not letting myself use the trigger phrase?"

She raised an eyebrow pointedly.

"I always swore to myself I would never use it. That even if... something happened, I'd find another way."

"And that idea was so ingrained that you didn't use it even when you were compromised."

That meant something. That meant everything.

"I used it today."

"To save Tony."

Clint nodded.

"If something like this ever happens again--" she began.

"I'll never--"

"--I trust your judgment."

His eyes widened.

"But. You tell me. You never keep anything like this from me. Ever again."

He nodded firmly. "Never again."

The previous tension in the air dissipated, and they sat in silence.

The engine thrummed. Her head ached, and she felt sleep beckoning. She gave into it, because Clint was here. She was safe.


End file.
